


Finders Keepers

by SirLadySketch



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aka grumpy wolf who just woke up from a long nap, Eluvians, Gen, How Fen'Harel got his Eluvians Back, Spoilers, Spoilers for Masked Empire, This is Fen'Harel who just had to kill his ally and friend for a useless mortal, This is not the Solas we know and love, Trespasser Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 02:47:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6312370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLadySketch/pseuds/SirLadySketch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The eluvians call to Briala, even in her sleep. But demons and spirits aren’t the only thing to walk the Fade, and it’s only finders-keepers if you manage to hold on to what you’ve got.</p><p>Set after <i>The Masked Empire</i>, but before Inquisition. Based on Solas’s explanation of events during Trespasser, spoilers for both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finders Keepers

Perhaps it was because they had some connection to the Fade, or because she spent so much time planning her actions and movements around them. Or perhaps it was simply because she found them so fascinating, and her thoughts often lingered on the possibilities they offered. Whatever the reason, it seemed that the eluvians called to her even in sleep, so when Briala laid down to rest, she sometimes found herself walking those strange halls of the ancient Elvhen people.

The first time, the panic of losing herself or encountering demons in the ruins jolted her awake, and she spent the next few nights fearing that the lingering spirits of the dead were trying to reach her through the Veil. The second time, she saw no sign of life or spirit, so she was cautiously curious, trying to decide if she knew where she was in the warren of tunnels, braving some exploration when no spirits or monsters appeared. Now, after several weeks wandering the labyrinth of mirrors in waking and dreaming, Briala walked the halls with an easy stride and an open mind. Surprised perhaps-- it was odd to realize one was dreaming but still have control over your actions and movements-- but this was the Fade, and the eluvians were ancient Elvhen magic, so she assumed that the clarity was simply a useful side effect of the artifacts.

In the short time she’d had control of the network, she’d been systematically mapping out the paths, finding abandoned rooms and trying to determine where the section of tunnels might lie in Thedas. She’d left markers along the path-- broken chains and shackles, pots painted with images of Elvhen warriors riding into battle-- small things that her people would notice and know to follow, but easily missed by an outsider if they somehow found a way into the Labyrinth of Mirrors. She’d been able to use them a few times already, and with each success, her resistance gained a bit more credibility. Their numbers were growing, and while her efforts were not as large scale as she might have liked, every little success was another victory for the elves.

Tonight, the passage she walked was unfamiliar, no doubt some sort of conglomerate fabrication her mind put together from memories of the paths she’d already explored. The tunnels were much like any others she’d encountered in the past-- broken urns, stone coffins, offerings left for elves long since dead or forgotten in uthenera. Still, every so often she would encounter a new mural, a new chamber filled with memories of people long since dead, or even curious wisps who followed her at a distance and explored the Fade with her as she dreamt.

As in most cases of the tunnels, the path ended with the watery light of an eluvian, the pale shimmering ghosts of what lay beyond reflecting on the floor below. Sometimes one could look through the portal and get a sense for what lay on the other side, but this one seemed to simply be more of the same. It might be another one of those dreams where you kept walking down the same path, over and over. Tiring, but so long as she didn’t meet a demon, it would be something to pass the time before she awoke. She took a final look down the hallway she’d traveled, then stepped through the portal.

Instead of a tunnel, she found herself in a massive chamber. Bones lay about the room: ancient elven bones like the ones they’d come across in her first venture through the Crossroads. But unlike the tender embraces and fearful poses of those first skeletons, these people were garbed for battle, and fell with weapons in their hands. There were deep scourges in the stone, as though some great monster had dug in its claws to spring upon its fleeing prey. Blackened blood stains spilled over a millennia ago still clung to the walls and floor, disappearing under the dusty remains of the long-dead warriors.

She’d seen her fair share of death. The massacre of Halamshiral had been terrible, but the number of bodies and the stench of decay had been so overwhelmingly pungent that she’d found herself numbed to the sight of more. Just as well, given the fact that the last corpses she’d seen in these halls had responded to emotions and risen from the dead. Still, there was something off about this chamber-- beyond the remains of the warriors who’d died in agony and fear.

She decided that it must be the darkness that set her teeth on edge. In the previous places she’d explored, there’d always been some sort of magical light to brighten the dim rooms and hallways, a sort of green glow that she associated with the Fade and eluvians in general. There were shadows of these fixtures scattered about the room, but they remained unlit, looking like the misshapened and blackened skeletons of trees. In truth, she could barely make out the walls, which seemed to shift with shadows that skittered across the surface when she turned to look at them.

This was an evil place, or a place that held some lingering, terrible power, and unarmed as she was, she was not willing to risk venturing further, not even in the Fade. She was no mage, but she knew enough to recognize the perfect place for a demon’s hunting grounds. She clamped down on her fear, keeping a wary eye on the dead. Last time she’d been in a group, and they’d barely gotten out alive. She was not foolhardy enough to think she could escape danger while dreaming, alone and vulnerable.

Briala turned back to the eluvian, expecting to find the welcoming light of the tunnels she’d left. Instead, she found that it had melted into the shadows, the mirrored surface dark. She could almost feel the shadows pressing in, blocking off her escape and maneuvering her farther into the room. A rising dampness breathed a cold fog into the room, a white blanket that seeped through the cracked stone and curled about her ankles.

She shivered, but there was no hope except to press on and search the room to see if there was another eluvian she could activate to escape, or if there was some sort of mechanism in the chamber itself that worked the portal from this side. She was no mage or dreamer, and could not force herself to wake up at whim. She had to remain calm and stay focused, or she risked dying in the Fade. Briefly, she placed a hand over her breastbone and felt the a reassuring warmth pulsing under her touch. The ruby that controlled the eluvians hung heavy about her neck, but it was a welcome and grounding weight in this cold darkness.

Feeling a little more reassured that she would not be stranded forever, she chose a direction at random and walked off in search of some means of escape. She drew closer, she could see that the walls of the chamber held mosaics of strangely elongated people and monstrous animals with blood red eyes. The Dalish gods, no doubt, and perhaps the old gods as well. An interesting study for another time, when she knew how to escape, and that she was protected if something else showed up. As she traced the outlines of one of the figures on the wall, she heard whispers sigh throughout the room. Quiet murmurings that were low and harsh, but muffled in the fog.

She stilled, squinting out into the room. The dead still lay where they’d fallen, the magic rolling over the bodies in harmless waves. Nothing was there in the room with her, there was no sign of living creature or spirit. She might have been able to dismiss the whispers as simple tricks of the mind, but she’d been invisible her entire life in the court of Orlais, and you developed a sense that recognized when you were being watched.

Briala knew how to play the Game, however, and her bardic training gave her muscle memory for how to move and act, even when her mind was frantically trying to come up with some sort of plan. Casually, she walked over and knelt beside one of the bone piles, making the sign of the Maker above the body as she moved it into a more restful pose. As she folded what remained of the arms over the rib cage, she slipped the soldier’s knife up her sleeve. After murmuring a soft prayer over the fallen warrior, she stood, then moved to the next corpse, preparing to repeat the process, looking for any other weapons or supplies she might use.

 _“What little rabbit wandered into my domain?”_ rumbled a deep and silken male voice. She was on her feet in an instant, knife extended, but the voice came from all around and within her, making it impossible to pinpoint its origin. He chuckled, and she thought she caught a flicker of movement in the shadows just beyond her line of sight. When she turned, of course, there was nothing there. “ _I fear that you could not possibly live long enough to say rites for all the dead who lie within these halls_ ,” he continued. “ _Mortals are such fragile creatures_.”

“Who are you? How did you follow me here? Show yourself!” she shouted, turning this way and that, trying to find something she could focus on. That earned her another chuckle, and she spun just in time to see a flicker of red before it disappeared back into the shadows.

“ _So many questions, da’len_ ,” laughed the voice. “ _But I am told you are a clever girl. Surely you can work it out for yourself_.”

“Demon!” she hissed, holding up her knife and trying to find a defensible position against a wall.

She heard a breathy snort of a laugh behind her, and she spun to see the fog pooling back to the patch of ground where the speaker’s breath had blown it away. At first, she could not see anything, just more darkness and shadows playing across the walls. Slowly, she realized that she was not looking high enough, and she tilted her gaze up.

Six red lights gleamed at her through the gloom, and as she stared, horrified, up into those terrible eyes, she could see the pale white gleam of long white teeth, teeth as long as her forearm, and twice as sharp as her borrowed dagger. She balked at that terrible canine smile as the Dread Wolf grinned down at her.

“ _Ah, I think you know better than that, little pet_ ,” he said, stalking towards her with head low, ears pricked forward. He laughed, “ _You are in my domain, and you have something that I want._ ”

She gaped, her mouth unable to form the words. She did not believe in the elven gods; she barely believed in the Maker. Still, it was difficult to reconcile her beliefs when a massive wolf straight out of legends loomed above her. And where else might one stumble upon an ancient elvhen god but within the forgotten tombs of the ancient elvhen people?

She scrambled away from the monster, trying to put as much distance between them as she could in the limited space of the room. There weren’t really any decent places to hide or even find a defensible position, but still she stumbled back, unable to keep her eyes off of him. He laughed, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, and the sound echoed through the room, rolling over her with a touch a magic. She held out the dagger once again, which only made him tilt his head in amusement.

“ _I wonder where it is you think you can run_ ,” mused the wolf, pacing around her in a wide, slow circle. “ _This is the realm of dreams-- where do you think you can go that I cannot follow? Will you scurry back to your burrow, and lead me to your people? Will you lead me on a merry chase through memories you keep locked in your heart? Or shall we discuss the terms of your freedom? The night is young, the Fade is endless, and even in dreaming, your mortality makes you soft. But I am willing to negotiate. Shall we come to an agreement?_ ”

“I shall give you nothing, demon!” She made the sign of the Maker, wondering if faith in one deity (no matter how lax) could overcome the power of another. Unfortunately, she felt no divine intervention, and no cunning plan came to mind. Her spirits fell when he just snorted in derision, and she stepped back when he shifted in place.

Keeping her eyes on the massive monster in front of her meant that she could not see where the bodies lay on the floor. Her heel hit the sharpened edge of a sword and she slipped, falling back over the dented suit of armor. She felt blood well out of the cut and run down her skin, and briefly feared that the demon before her would take advantage of the wound. Could demons work blood magic?

“Tabarnac!” she cursed, trying to ignore the pain of her injury and regain her feet. For his part, Fen’Harel sat there on his haunches, simply watching her make a fool of herself. His tail thumped softly on the stone floor, scattering the bones like they were piles of dried leaves. She stood up and took a defensive stance, trying not to favor her wounded foot too much.

“ _I admire your fighting spirit, although it is not necessary. I wish only to speak--_ ”

“I have nothing to say to you, demon,” she hissed. “Your kind tell nothing but lies. Why else would you wear the form of a trickster god?”

He sighed. “ _Your bravery is commendable, if futile. If you run you simply make this more difficult for yourself._ ” She heard the crackle of magic behind her, and saw her shadow in the pale light of the eluvian as it burst back into life. Fen’Harel stood, ears pricked forward, all eyes focused on her, “ _The Fade holds many truths; I wonder if you have the strength to face them? Few are willing to confront the dark secrets of who they truly are--If we looked into you heart, what would we find? Can you stand before me and say that you are worthy of the gifts you received? Or shall we leave you some dignity and discuss terms?_ ”

“I have nothing to hide, least of all from you,” she spat out. “I fought for all that I have, and will fight to keep what is mine. You shall have nothing from me.”

He sighed, rising to his feet and shaking off the debris that clung to his fur.

“ _Remember that I offered you a choice, rabbit,_ ” he said, licking his chops and lowering his head. “ _If you wish to try your luck, so be it. But if you run, know that I will follow._ ”

“Maker take you!” She cried, then bolted for the eluvian, rolling across the floor to avoid the snap of teeth, then she was through the mirror and running through the darkened halls of a mansion. She stumbled to a halt, recognizing the location but unsure of how she’d gotten here. She turned to look behind her but the eluvian was gone, replaced by shadowy corridors of the mansion where she’d grown up with Celene. She could hear voices ahead, so she ran down the corridor, knowing what awaited her in the dimly lit room. She remembered this night vividly, had relived it over and over for many years.

She entered the room to find her parents lying cold on the floor, Celene weeping as she spun a lie of assassins to the young Briala standing beside her. Celene, who sat there covered in her parents’ blood, who had betrayed her best friend and lover to keep her bound to her side. In this vision, Briala still help the knife she’d used to kill the woman she’d thought responsible for their deaths.

“ _This woman took everything from you, spun you sweet lies to keep you close and leashed at her beck and call_ ,” murmured the wolf. She shivered, looking around the room. She could not see him, but his voice filled the room, blocking out the lies that spilled from Celene’s lips. The young Briala’s hand tightened on the dagger.

“She lied,” agreed Briala, unable to pull her gaze from the corpses on the floor. “If I had known what she had done that night, I would have killed her.”

“ _And yet when you learned the truth, you stayed your hand_ ,” he said, his voice traveling the room as he paced unseen. “ _Were your parents’ deaths so insignificant that you would not avenge them when you learned of her deceit? Or was your lust for the human woman so strong that you would lay with their murderer and forsake your duty to your kin? Do human lives always matter more than those of elves?_ ”

“I have broken ties with Celene,” Briala said, watching her younger self embrace the princess before they made their escape. She closed her eyes and turned, heading back to the hallway, where the glimmer of an eluvian awaited her. “I worked with her for years, doing what I could to better the conditions for my people. I could have killed her in the tunnels, but I know enough about the way the world works to see that she is the lesser of any number of evils that might sit upon the throne. Gaspard is no friend of the elves, and even now he kills indiscriminately to fight for the throne. Let them fight,” she hissed, walking towards the mirror. “When they are bruised and bloody and beaten on knees, the elves will rise and Halamshiral will be ours once more.”

“ _But who will be left to fight your battles? In times of war, the innocent are first to suffer._ ”

She walked through the mirror without answering him, clenching her fists. If she could gather the elves under her banner, she would take them somewhere safe. But what place in the world was safe for the elves?

The eluvian opened into an alleyway, the stench of rubbish and waste only slightly more pungent than the reek of alcohol and blood. It was an alleyway like so many found in the alienages of major cities, but this one was familiar to her-- at least, it had been familiar, until the destruction of Halamshiral had leveled this entire sector of the slums. The last time she’d walked this way she’d been with Felassan on one of his lessons, when he’d been trying to teach her something, but never actually explaining anything she did not already know.

“Do you know the tale of the Dread Wolf’s slow arrow, da’len?” She could hear his voice, remembered the way he would always use morality tales to teach lessons she’d already learned the hard way. Now, as she limped down the alleyway towards the sound of his voice, she could hear his favorite tale of all-- the one with the only name she knew him by, and the one that never failed to frustrate her.

“Yes, hahren,” she heard herself say. “But you cite the tale so often, I wonder if you even remember the lesson you’re trying to prove.”

Briala stopped at the end of the alley and saw the two figures sitting at a wooden bench, enjoying the cool evening and the somewhat fresher air the breeze brought in. Felassan looked the way he always did-- perhaps a little more drunk than usual, but he wore his usual travel gear, and his vallaslin marked him as an outsider among so many bare-faced city elves. Still, the people knew him here, and he was not like the other Dalish, at least not in his view of the city folk. He did have a tendency to go on and on about morality tales, however.

“It’s not my fault that you don’t know how to hear what I’m trying to tell you,” complained Felassan, refilling his mug. “You children really have no respect for your elders. We try to pass on wisdom and advice, but you don’t listen.”

“I could repeat the tale to you verbatim, old man,” she teased, taking a sip from her own mug. “Not my fault that you are forgetful in your doddering years.”

“An age joke!” Felassan clasped a hand to his chest as though wounded, sloshing a bit of the ale down his front. “No respect, after all that I’ve done for you.”

“ _He gave his life for you_ ,” came the growling rumble of the wolf, and she skittered forward, turning to see the wolf filling the alleyway with his shadowy form. The six red eyes gleamed in the dim evening light, narrowed in anger. Her heart skipped a beat, and she turned to face the memory of her mentor, laughing and full of life.

“When I last saw him, he implied that I would not see him again,” she said, leaning against one of the lampposts that dotted the streets. She watched him, so at ease and alive, and sighed, shaking his head. “I had hoped it was another one of his melodramatics. He was a good man.”

“ _Better than you deserved_ ,” replied the wolf, the growl still deep in his throat. " _His death was a regretful waste_." Briala flinched, turning to look at the monster lurking in the shadows.

“I did my best to help him,” she argued, crossing her arms over her chest. “I offered him shelter, I fought alongside him when he asked. I followed him into the Labyrinth of mirrors and activated the eluvians as he instructed.”

“ _But did you ever consider what he was trying to say_?”

“His tales? Stories about the Dread Wolf’s clever ploys to outwit his enemies?” She gave him a sidelong glance. "I admit, I am beginning to question many things I dismissed offhand. But I took the spirit of the tales to heart.”

“ _Which was?_ ”

“Those who wait for other to solve their problems, and those who allow themselves to be distracted from their goals-- they always end up regretting it in the long run.”

“ _And yet, did you not just say you would do exactly that? Wait for the humans to sort themselves out before making your move?_ ” He snarled, and the shadows blotted out the lights around the tavern, casting the streets into darkness. The figures around them disappeared, falling back into shadows as the wolf advanced. “ _It makes me wonder, are you so blind that you are unable to see the contradictions between your words and actions? Are you worthy of the blind faith of your followers?_ ”

“That is not what I meant--” she argued, but the wolf pressed further, curling back his lips in disdain.

“ _Speak clearly, then, and tell me that you plan to press the attack, to win back your people’s freedom by taking action._ ” When she hesitated, he snarled again, snapping his teeth at her.

“ _Tell me that your life is worth the deaths of those who fall while they wait for you to move. Tell me that they did not die in vain. That he did not die for some toothless cause._ ”

Felassan lay upon the ground, his eyes glazed over in death, his face turned at an unnatural angle. His crumpled form sprawled uncomfortably under the Dread Wolf, one arm outstretched towards her as though beseeching her for help. His mouth hung open as though he’d died screaming, and blood trickled down from his eyes, ears, and nose. Whatever had caused his death had been swift, but not without pain. She shuddered, stepping away from the scene.

“If we move before we are prepared, more people will die than if we did nothing,” she whispered, gulping back the bile that rose in her throat. “We cannot afford to act with haste, or everything we’ve sacrificed will be for naught.”

The wolf hunched over, lowering his head to peer at her at eye level. She froze, unable to tear her eyes from his gaze. “ _A politic response, expected from one raised in a court of deception_ ,” he replied. “ _Tell me, have you fallen so far that you believe the lies you tell yourself?_ ”

“I am not lying!” She cried, falling back even further. The wolf followed her, the muscles tensing under the thick pelt of dark fur.

“ _Another lie_ ,” he growled. “ _I grow weary of watching you spin tales to ease your guilt. Let us end this_.”

The Dread Wolf opened his mouth as though to swallow her whole, and shaken as she was by the horrors he showed her, she would not give up just yet. As his nose drew even with her heart, she lashed out with her forgotten knife, striking him across the brow. She followed the lunge and rolled over his muzzle to dart between his legs, even as his jaws snapped at the place she had been seconds before. Briala raced back down the alleyway, gesturing the eluvian awake and throwing herself through the portal as she heard the click of claws against the cobblestone street behind her.

She burst out of the mirror and lost her footing on the icy surface, tumbling down a snowy slope. The cold burned her feet, her injury throbbing with each pounding step, but she recovered from the slide and took off through the trees, darting this way and that to make the pursuit more difficult. She could hear the crunch of snow beneath the wolf’s paws, but she didn’t dare turning back to look, knowing even the quickest look back could cause her to falter.

She’d been running for what seemed like hours, and her lungs burned in the sharp night air. When she tripped over a root buried in the snow, she fell poorly and lost her wind. She gasped into the snow, her harsh breathing the only sound in the dark woods. Briala gulped for air, trying to quiet her deafening heartbeats. When she’d recovered, somewhat, she realized that the woods were silent-- no wolf, no thundering paws behind her, nothing but the sound of her panting on the ground.

She gingerly pushed herself up, coughing with the effort, and she studied the woods around her. She’d never really been out of the city for long spans of time, and she was no scout, able to determine where she was by the stars or types of trees. She looked back along her tracks. Go back, and risk the wolf lying in wait? Or press forward, and hope she came to a place where she could rally her defenses, or better yet, find a way to awaken and escape the wolf?

A dim light flickered in the distance, so she decided to head towards that, lacking any other true alternatives. As she drew closer, she saw it to be a Dalish camp, much like the one she had gone to with Felassan. The group sat huddled around the fire, staring into the flames as though transfixed. She stumbled towards them, holding out a hand.

“Run! You must run!” she called, but they remained fixed in place, as though they could not hear her. As she drew closer, she realized that this was the group she’d met all those months ago, the group that had been slain by the demon Imshael. Their forms were pale, wisplike shapes built from the Fade itself. Ethereal beings made from memories who could neither hear nor see her, unaware of the doom and danger coming their way.

“ _Would you warn them of me? Do you imagine yourself as their Keeper?_ ” She saw him across the campsite, the firelight flickering in his eyes, although his dark fur absorbed the light. Beyond him lay only darkness; even the stars had been eaten by his shadows. “ _You were willing enough to let them die when it suited you_.”

As he spoke, she watched in horror as the demon fell upon the camp, killing the clan members one by one. She knelt transfixed and helpless as the clan was destroyed, watched the demon make his bargain and walk off in the body of Mihris to cause even more trouble. In the end, all that was left was Briala and the wolf, and the broken remains of the people who had harbored such ill will towards her.

“We all must make sacrifices,” she replied, bitter and sorrowful. She wiped at the tears that had come unbidden to her eyes. Whether it was exhaustion or sorrow, she couldn’t say, but she would not show any more weakness in front of this monster. “I regret what happened to this clan, but they were unwilling to stand with the elves of the city against the humans. But if we had the power of a god behind us---”

“ _No_.” His response was short and curt, and she saw his lip curl in a sneer. The campfire between them roared with his curt reply, and the scene caught fire, the bodies turning to ash before her eyes.

“The elves are your people!” She cried, watching the flames die down. No trace of the clan remained, the aravels burned to dust, the bones of the people ashes that were already beginning to drift away. “I am trying to keep them safe!”

“ _They are not my people_ ,” he snorted and licked his chops. “ _Are they yours? Is this how you keep your kin safe?_ ”

“They…” she paused, unable to disagree. When she asked the Dalish to help the people of Halamshiral, Felassan warned her that they would not come. When she met with the clan and learned of their plans to activate the eluvians, it was clear that they had not planned to share that knowledge with the flat ears of the city. The people of the city were no kin of theirs.

“They are elves,” she said at last, clawing the soil beneath her fingers and clenching them into a fist. She glared at him through tear stained eyes, forcing herself to stand and face the wolf. “Even if they do not want my help, I will aid any who need assistance. The Dalish have a saying: We are the last of the Elvhen. Never again shall we submit. City elf or Dalish, it doesn’t matter. We cannot survive against the humans if we do not stand together. Our people are dying.”

“ _On this we can agree_ ,” he replied, and she heard genuine regret in his voice. He watched last of the ashes blow away, then shook, his fur shaking off the lingering motes of ash and snow. He sneezed, clearing his nose, then sat on his haunches watching her once again. “ _But your efforts are not enough_.”

“Then help me!” She pleaded, stepping forward. “With your power--”

“ _No._ ”

“But why?” She asked, leaning against one of the slender pines to ease the ache in her foot. “The Dalish legends said that you would aid the People when they had need of you. Why will you not help now?”

He sighed. “ _What aid would you ask of me? Another arrow? You broke the last one I sent._ ”

“Another…? You sent Felassan,” she whispered, tightening her grip on the tree. He’d always been a bit odd, different than the few Dalish people she’d met over the years, but she’d always considered it a differing culture between clans. He’d never told her much of his people, but he’d always maintained that he worked for a higher power. She’d never dreamed he’d meant a god. She shivered. “You sent Felassan and you killed him.”

“ _The arrow was broken_ ,” the wolf repeated, voice weary and tinged with melancholy. Then, he shook his head and stood, giving what could pass as a shrug in his current form. His eyes narrowing slightly. “ _It was a regrettable loss, and one that might have been avoided, if not for your interference. You cost me my arrow, for which I should kill you in turn. I am reasonable, however. I will not take your life when you hold something that I desire_.”

“What do I have that you could possibly want?” she hissed, shivering in the cold night air. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying not to flinch under his steady gaze. “I will give you nothing.”

“ _Not willingly, perhaps_ ,” he sighed. He lowered his head, ears tilting back. “ _But I will have it, one way or another. It is… inevitable._ ”

With the fire gone and the woods dark, she could just make out the silvery light of another eluvian-- or perhaps the same one she’d traveled through before. If she could get to it before him, she might be able to close the gate before he made it through, trapping him on one side while she made her escape on the other. He tensed and braced himself in the snow, apparently sensing her intent to flee.

If only she had some of her supplies! In waking, she was never without a knife or flash bombs, easy ways to stun and kill, or at the very least escape if necessary. She might not be able to hurt the Dread Wolf -- was that even wise to try? -- but she might be able to elude him and escape to relative safety. If she could force herself to wake up, she could seek out one of the mages in the Circle, or better yet, ask a Keeper of a friendlier clan to assist. Surely the Dalish would know ways to keep the trickster god off one’s trail.

She didn’t sense his movement until it was too late.

Magic crashed against her back, forcing her to stumble forward and onto her knees. She went with the movement and rolled-- towards him, unfortunately. She was up on her feet again as quickly as possible, veering off to the side to slide around him and make her way back towards the mirror.

She felt the magic crash into her again, and again she fell. She was slower to recover this time; she’d landed on her injured foot, and when she rose to her feet the snow was red with blood. Fen’Harel watched her and sighed.

“ _How can you hope to lead the people when all you do is run? When the merest touch of magic sends you to the ground?_ ” He pushed again and she leaned against the magic, trying to use the power for support. He snorted, releasing the magic at once, and she stumbled forward a few more steps, unsteady on her feet.

“ _Why do you not fight back? How will you keep your people safe if a simple spell holds you to the ground? Is this what the elves have become? You’re no stronger than a puppy_ ,” he huffed, striding over towards her with long, easy steps. She leaned against one of the pine saplings, feeling it bend beneath her weight as she used it to hold herself upright. She glared up at him as he came to a stop in front of her. “ _Will you discuss terms now, da’fen?_ ”

“I have a counter offer,” she panted, leaning away from him, trying to get firmer footing. She would need to time this just right if she was going to make it the rest of the way to the mirror. He leaned in, eyes narrowing.

“ _I am done with games, pup,_ ” he growled, and she could feel the heat of his breath on her face, and the scent of wet fur and pines. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to relax.

“As am I.” She rolled off the pine sapling, making it snap forward now that the tension of her weight was gone. It whipped into the wolf’s eyes, causing him to flinch back and work at his stinging eyes with a foreleg. She took the moment of distraction to take off on foot, and dove through the mirror, turning to cut off his escape.

It was a trap.

She’d been herded into the room with the pedestal. The room where she’d claimed the eluvians for her people, the room where everything had changed and she finally had the means to help the elves. The room where Celene’s treachery had been revealed, and where Briala decided that the rest of her life would be spent in the service of her people.

When she entered, the trap sprang shut. Even as she tried to turn and flee magic forced her to the ground and he was upon her, pinning her body beneath his massive paws. The eluvians brightened into life in the presence of the activation stone, and she could feel it burning against her skin, the magic resonating in the room. She could taste it now, that ancient magic, although it felt stronger than before. Fen’Harel’s magic curled about them in the shadows, and she could feel it pulling the eluvians away from her, the paths growing dark and confused in her mind as the magic was peeled away.

She writhed against him, trying to find some way to free herself, but magic crashed against her, holding her still. Even without the force holding her down, the weight of his paws on her arms made it impossible to shift. It didn’t hurt-- he was being gentle, for what that was worth-- but she fought against him all the same.

“ _Quiet, da’len, and you will come to no harm_ ,” he chided, head raised to breathe in the magic-infused air. He watched the eluvians with a languid curiosity, his head turning to study each mirror within the room.

“Damn you!” she spat, writhing beneath the paw that held her down. He turned his attention to her at last and applied just a bit more pressure as he leaned forward, keeping her in place.

“ _Da’len, your human Maker cannot keep you safe when you walk the elvhen roads,_ ” he replied, voice calm and reasonable. “ _You walk the realm of dreams--my domain. I am master and judge of this place, and you have already proven yourself unworthy._ ”

She felt the heat of his breath as he lowered his head towards her prone body. She tensed, aware of how vulnerable she was, but unable to shift from under the weight of his paws to protect her belly from those long, terrible teeth. She felt the tug of fabric as he tore at her collar, heard the tear of silk as he exposed her neck. He nosed the material aside, and she could not stop the swallow of fear as she felt those teeth graze the sensitive flesh. A tug, a snap-- then he stepped back and she was free to roll away, hand going to her throat.

“What did you--” but she could see the gem between his teeth, the broken cord that had secured it around her neck sliding out of his mouth to pool on the ground. She scrambled towards him, heedless of the danger. “No, you cannot! That is the last hope of the elves!”

He laughed, his form already beginning to melt back into the shadows. The pale red eyes remained fixed on her, however, the last bit of him to fade away.

“ _I have the Elvhen’s best interest in mind. I will see them put to far better use than they fared under your stewardship,_ ” he replied, his voice already beginning to fade. “ _This is what you wanted, was it not? Fen’harel enansal. May you find success in your doomed endeavors in the time you have left, little rabbit. Best now for you to wake up and be on your way._ ”

 

She sat up, heart pounding, nightclothes sticking to her in a damp sweat. She could dimly make out the sound of camp outside of her tent, the quiet sounds filtering in through the rough canvas. She ached from head to foot, as though she’d been running for miles-- as though a massive monster had held her down with his weight against her will. She half-expected to see bruises on her arms, should she peel back her nightclothes to look.

The rapid patter of feet coming towards her tent had her reaching for her knives before she registered who it was, but she didn’t put the daggers away when the scout entered the tent without preamble. The woman looked pale, although dark circles smudged under her eyes. When she saw that Briala was awake she stopped in the door and saluted.

“I’m sorry to disturb you my lady, but you must come quickly. Something terrible has happened,” the girl panted. Briala grabbed for her clothes, donning the simple tunic before rising to her feet. She hissed and looked down, surprised to see blood caked on her heel from the wound she’d sustained in the Fade.

She stared down at the cut. She’d never heard of injuries received in the Fade manifesting in reality, but then, she’d never heard of anyone being pursued by a dead elvhen god and living to tell the tale. Fen’Harel was said to walk between worlds, but surely it had only been a terrible dream, or an omen at worst. Unless…

The ruby was gone from her neck. She searched the tent frantically, then froze when she spotted what had been placed beside her as she slept.

“My lady--” interrupted the scout, and Briala sighed, crumpling back into her bedroll.

“The eluvians are no longer working,” she stated, and the girl gasped, clenching her skirts in her fists.

“Yes, my lady,” the agent replied. “They went dark not long ago, but when we tried to reactivate it, it remained shadowed. We’re trapped here until we can get them to open again, or we’ll have to wait until the reinforcements arrive with the mounts.”

Briala rubbed her face, trying to clear the rest of the nightmare from her mind and make sense of what had happened, and how. Clearly there was more to the eluvians than waking dreams. She supposed she should be grateful that she’d survived her encounter with the trickster god, but she slumped back to her bedroll, suddenly too tired to stand.

“They are lost to us,” she said instead. She briefly closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then continued. “We will have to fall back on our earlier plan until we can reassess the situation.”

“But can’t you--”

“No,” she interrupted, sitting up straight and glaring at the girl. “The eluvians helped, but in the end we knew that it would come to this. We’ll leave a guard here to watch over the mirror, and I will return to the capital when the horses arrive. We will approach Celene as a diplomatic party and see what she has to offer.”

“But…”

“The elves cannot hide from the world forever,” Briala said. “The humans have not yet managed to kill each other. It’s time that we take a more active role in our fate.”

“We’ll be killed!”

“Not immediately, which may give us the time we need,” said Briala. She leaned over and picked up the broken cord that had once held the ruby around her neck from its resting place under the paw of a wolf statue. She gave the little Fen’Harel figure a gentle pat, then gave the scout a bitter smile. “We will make the humans hear our demands, and we will act. We have the blessing of the Dread Wolf, let us show them our teeth.”

 

\- - - -

(I doodled a thing to go with this!)

**Author's Note:**

>  _Tabarnac_ \-- Colloquial French Canadian for shit/damn it 
> 
> Yes, Briala swears in Canadian French because the studio is in Montreal, and no one can convince me otherwise. :p
> 
> Also, this FH is not the Solas we know and love in DAI. This is the FH who had to kill one of his best agents a few months ago, one of the few people he considered a friend. This is FH challenging the leader of the mortal elves and finding her lacking. And this FH was very tough to write, I'm gonna have to write some fluff sometime soon to make up for this.


End file.
